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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/23954296">Godmode's Gay</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/RoiledJelly/pseuds/RoiledJelly'>RoiledJelly</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Parahumans Series - Wildbow</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>F/F</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-05-01</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-05-06</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-02 15:02:02</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>3</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>8,591</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/23954296</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/RoiledJelly/pseuds/RoiledJelly</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>A nontraditional self-insert about how it's not really possible to have ethical relationships when you're a demigod using timeline knowledge to manipulate the fate of the world. Features an OC Companion sidekick (Cameron AKA Freek), who is head over heels in love with the SI (Beatrix AKA Sovran) at the beginning of the fic. By the end, their relationship will be a raging dumpster fire. Will the world burn too?</p><p>Made with CYOA v3 rev</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>OC/SI - Relationship</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>5</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>10</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Chapter 1</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p> </p>
<p></p><blockquote>
  <p>
    <em>My mysterious Miss Trix</em>
  </p>
  <p>
    <em> came into my life like </em>
  </p>
  <p>
    <em> a key entering its lock: </em>
  </p>
  <p>
    <em> where past partners </em>
  </p>
  <p>
    <em> picked, decoded, </em>
  </p>
  <p>
    <em> and bypassed </em>
  </p>
  <p>
    <em> my defenses </em>
  </p>
  <p>
    <em> with varying skill, </em>
  </p>
  <p>
    <em> She glided in and </em>
  </p>
  <p>
    <em> I opened up like </em>
  </p>
  <p>
    <em> we'd been made </em>
  </p>
  <p>
    <em> for each other. </em>
  </p>
  <p>
    
  </p>
  <p>
    <em> Through Her, </em>
  </p>
  <p>
    <em> I was reborn. </em>
  </p>
  <p>
    <em> I wasn't always </em>
  </p>
  <p>
    <em> this badass bitch; </em>
  </p>
  <p>
    <em> even last year, </em>
  </p>
  <p>
    <em> I was a bit of </em>
  </p>
  <p>
    <em> a pitiful wreck. </em>
  </p>
  <p>
    <em> Sure, it's true </em>
  </p>
  <p>
    <em> I grew up </em>
  </p>
  <p>
    <em> strong and clever, </em>
  </p>
  <p>
    <em> but it takes more </em>
  </p>
  <p>
    <em> to make meaning </em>
  </p>
  <p>
    <em> with your life. </em>
  </p>
  <p>
    
  </p>
  <p>
    <em> You need Purpose. </em>
  </p>
  <p>
    <em> When I was lost, </em>
  </p>
  <p>
    <em> She helped me  </em>
  </p>
  <p>
    <em> find mine. </em>
  </p>
  <p>
    <em> We're going to  </em>
  </p>
  <p>
    <em> save the— </em>
  </p>
</blockquote><p>"Cam? We're here, sweetie," said Beatrix, nudging her fellow passenger gently.</p><p>Cameron looked up from the incomplete poem on her tinkertech datapad, blinking. Their car was just pulling into the driveway of a small house outside the Docks, where a lone yellow light shone from a first floor window. The porch lamps stood dark. This was it, then. <em>Time to get my game face on</em>, she thought, tucking the datapad into a pocket of her cargo pants.</p><p>Beatrix thanked the driver, and the two women climbed out of the warm backseat, breaths steaming in the biting January air. The black sedan pulled away smoothly. As they crunched their way up the unshoveled front steps, one creaked loudly, protesting the unfamiliar weight. Cameron froze, instinctively looking to Beatrix, who grinned sheepishly in return. "Didn't notice the rot. I should've reinforced it," she confessed.</p><p>"Think he heard that?" asked Cameron, furrowing her brow.</p><p>"Oh, definitely. He's on his way now, muttering about how we're probably Jehovah's Witnesses or some such." Beatrix hummed thoughtfully. "I do believe he's been drinking."</p><p>"Well, then." Cameron squared her shoulders. "Ball's in our court." She strode the last few yards up to the door, knocked firmly three times, and stuffed her bare hands back into the pockets of her fleece-lined black leather coat. She stepped back to allow room for the door to swing open.</p><p>Beatrix followed at a more sedate pace, colorful skirts swishing against her leggings. Taking her place beside Cameron, she clasped her gloved hands behind her back and schooled her features into something appropriately serious.</p><p>The lights flickered dimly to life, and there was a brief pause before the door opened to reveal a tall, thin, balding man in a rumpled green button-down and well-worn jeans. Round glasses framed slightly puffy green eyes beneath thick, bushy brows, currently scrunched up in an expression of mild consternation. "Can I help you, uh… ladies?" he ventured hoarsely, glancing from one to the other and blinking owlishly.</p><p>Beatrix didn't wince. She was in her 'serious professionalism' mode. "As the police likely already told you, an anonymous source tipped them off this morning as to your daughter's, ah… predicament. I was that source, and this is my partner. We would very much like to speak with you regarding the matter of the attack. May we please come in?"</p><p>The man's face tightened at the mention of what had happened, jaw clenching when he heard the word <em> attack</em>. He stared hard, looking from Beatrix to Cameron and back again, then stepped aside, gesturing curtly for them to enter. He shut the door—somewhat forcefully—after they passed the threshold, locking up while they silently hung their coats in the tiny front hall closet. Leading the way to what appeared to be a living room, he perched stiffly on the seat of a beat-up brown armchair. He proceeded to glare blankly at the black TV screen, tensing and relaxing his hands as he visibly struggled to master himself. A few empty beer bottles stood on a scuffed coffee table, sans coasters, one still having about an inch of liquid in it.</p><p>Beatrix unhesitatingly made for the matching loveseat roughly opposite the armchair (both of which needed some reupholstering), where she seated herself carefully, mindful of her long skirts. Cameron followed her lead, hands in pockets. The silence stretched an awkward moment, until Beatrix cleared her throat. "Well, Mister Hebert," she began softly. "I imagine you have questions."</p><p>"Yes," he said slowly, stretching the vowel a bit as he refocused on his guests. Some of the tension had left him, but only some. "Questions."</p><p>"Let us supply some answers, then. First, how much do you know about what happened?"</p><p>"I know that some <em> sick fuck— </em> " He cut himself off, then started over. "Sorry. I know that <em> someone </em> put my daughter in a locker filled with, with 'bio-hazard', and left her in there for over <em> half an hour</em>. She's in the hospital now, they say she's in a <em> coma </em>…" He trailed off.</p><p>Beatrix nodded. "The girls responsible appear to be named Emma Barnes and Sophia Hess."</p><p>"Emma?" he repeated. "No, that can't be right. Emma is Taylor's best friend…"</p><p>"I very much doubt that. She was taunting Taylor after Miss Hess shoved her in and locked the door."</p><p>He narrowed his eyes. "And just how do you know all this? Were you there?"</p><p>"Ah… Well, not exactly. Yes and no."</p><p>"What's that supposed to mean? Who are you people, anyway?"</p><p>Beatrix looked embarrassed. "Ah, how rude of us. My name is Beatrix, Beatrix Ell."</p><p>"Cam," said Cameron after a beat. "Belcher."</p><p>"We're not your enemies, Daniel—may I call you Daniel?"</p><p>"Danny is fine." He crossed his arms.</p><p>"Danny, then. As I was saying," continued Beatrix, "we're here because we care. The why of it is a little complicated, or rather sensitive, but I sense we're not going to get anywhere unless we're up front with you. We're capes—heroes, I'd like to think—and I saw what happened with my powers."</p><p>"Capes," Danny said flatly. "Why would capes be interested in my daughter?"</p><p>"I mean, we're not <em> specifically </em> interested in her, but I happened to be scoping out the area for gang activity, and when I saw what happened, well, it's not like I was just going to <em> ignore </em> it. I'm not a monster."</p><p>"If you're really 'heroes'," Danny practically sneered, "why didn't you reach out to me sooner?"</p><p>"We're not PRT affiliated, first of all. We couldn't risk our identities by contacting you in the hospital. Truly, this was the earliest we felt we could have this talk."</p><p>"Why'd you let it happen at all?! Couldn't you have stopped it right away?" Danny's face was flushed with the alcohol and his rising temper. "You probably left her in there on purpose, didn't you!"</p><p>"Danny, please, be reasonable," begged Beatrix. "As I already said, I was primarily searching for gang activity. By the time I checked back in and realized none of the witnesses had let her out, she had already fallen unconscious. So I called 911, like anyone would in that situation."</p><p>"Riiight," Danny drawled. "You got their names, but you weren't paying that much attention. Makes perfect sense."</p><p>"Hey man, lay off! She did her best," interjected Cameron.</p><p>"Then obviously her best wasn't good enough!" Danny was really starting to get worked up.</p><p>"You're right," Beatrix said before Cameron could argue further. "I fucked up. I'm <em> sorry</em>, Danny. I should have paid more attention, done something sooner. But I didn't, so now here we are, and we have to make the best of a bad situation."</p><p>Danny leaned back in his chair for the first time, uncrossing his arms and resting his hands in his lap. "Apology not accepted, but I appreciate the sentiment. Do you have any proof of these… claims?"</p><p>"As a matter of fact, I can demonstrate my powers fairly easily," said Beatrix. "Among other things, I have a sort of clairvoyance. For example, if you'll hold up some number of fingers while I close my eyes, I'll be able to tell you how many every time."</p><p>"Parlor tricks." Danny frowned.</p><p>Beatrix sighed. "Very well. I'll demonstrate with telekinesis then. Try not to be too alarmed, I'm going to levitate us."</p><p>Without further ado, the couch and armchair rose into the air. Danny's face lost its color, and he gripped his armrests so hard his knuckles turned white as his chair spun lazily in the air. "Okay! Enough! I believe you," he said in a panicky voice. The furniture lowered slowly, settling back into its original configuration. Danny was quietly hyperventilating, looking slightly green around the gills.</p><p>"Showoff," Cameron teased her partner. "You didn't have to scare the poor guy."</p><p>"It was the first thing I could think of," said Beatrix abashedly. "I didn't think it would be such a big deal."</p><p>Danny got himself under control with some deep breaths. "So," he said after a few moments. "You're capes. You helped my daughter, a little. What now? Why are you here?"</p><p>"Ah," said Beatrix, looking uncomfortable. "Well… Are you familiar with the term <em> trigger event</em>?"</p><p>Danny shook his head slowly.</p><p>"That's what it's called when someone gets powers in a traumatic experience," offered Cameron, glad to be able to contribute something finally. "It, uh, really sucks to go through. Like, 'worst day of your life' sucks." She lowered her eyes and ran a hand over her buzzed hair, recalling her own trigger. "Or year, in some cases," she muttered.</p><p>"Let me get this straight," said Danny slowly. "You're saying that my daughter, Taylor, may have become a parahuman as a result of this, this <em> trauma </em>perpetrated by her former best friend and some other high school girl. And you, what, you want to recruit her now?" He balled his hands into fists.</p><p>"Hardly," said Beatrix. "I mean yes, I believe Taylor may have triggered, but recruitment is <em> not </em>our agenda. The situation is more complicated than you realize."</p><p>"Enlighten me."</p><p>Beatrix sighed. "The 'other girl' is the issue. In the course of learning her name, I also discovered something very disturbing. This is highly illegal for me to know, much less tell you, but… I believe she's a cape herself—a Ward, in fact."</p><p>"What!?" cried Danny, sitting bolt upright.</p><p>"Oh, yes. I'm afraid it's true."</p><p>"Son of a <em> bitch</em>! How can you know?"</p><p>Beatrix shrugged. "Like I said before, I have a sort of remote observation ability. What I didn't mention is that it's not like normal vision or anything—more of a direct matter perception. I noticed this girl's brain contained an active <em> corona gemma</em>, which is the jargon for the structure that regulates parahuman abilities. Moreover, she carries two cell phones, one of which contains tinker-derived technology the likes of which only the PRT would be likely to have."</p><p>"Her brain… You can detect parahumans by observing their brains? Is that legal?"</p><p>"It is what it is, but I would thank you not to tell anyone. Many people wouldn't take kindly to me if they knew."</p><p>"And you're sure she's a Ward? How do you know she didn't build the Tinker phone herself?"</p><p>Beatrix shifted uncomfortably. "I <em> may </em>have spied on her longer than I should have, once I realized she was a parahuman. It was most definitely a PRT phone."</p><p>Danny grimaced. "Even granting that you're capes—self-described heroes—why should I believe these accusations? Heroes, especially Wards, don't <em> do </em> this kind of thing."</p><p>Cameron spoke up. "I hate to say it, but government 'heroes' do all this and worse, like, all the time. The Ward Shadow Stalker was recruited after an extensive career as a vigilante, during which time she's rumored to have <em> murdered </em> people in addition to many cases of staggeringly excessive force. Hell, there's evidence that the Protectorate recruits outright <em> villains</em>, never mind a violent vigilante. Their whole organization is full of psychopaths." She scowled.</p><p>"Strong words, but you're starting to sound like a conspiracy theorist. There are regulations, oversight, checks and balances. Stuff doesn't just happen in a vacuum, for God's sake."</p><p>"You're not wrong, in theory," acknowledged Beatrix. "However, in this case, it appears that the person responsible for overseeing Miss Hess's behavior is covering for her in order to keep her cushy job. Is corruption in the ranks really so hard for you to believe? You know what bureaucracy can be like."</p><p>"What about the school staff? Surely they must be aware, if this girl is so badly behaved."</p><p>"Winslow no doubt receives money from the PRT for hosting a Ward, and mere rumors of one's presence would help curb gang activity in the school. From the administration's perspective, a little bullying is nothing compared to knife fights and worse." Beatrix held up a hand to forestall Danny's objections to the phrase <em> a little bullying</em>. "I know, Danny, I know. It's no small thing, what happened to your daughter. The rotting bloody tampons in the locker bespeak a premeditated act, and trigger events are no joke under any circumstances. The point is, we're telling you the truth here."</p><p>"Rotting bloody… Oh God…" Danny looked nauseous.</p><p>"I know, right?" asked Cameron rhetorically. "So gross. And the bugs…" She shuddered.</p><p>"And Taylor?" asked Danny, changing the subject slightly. "What about her brain? Did you also see this… <em> gemma </em> there?"</p><p>"As a matter of fact, yes," admitted Beatrix. "A very active one, too. I believe she may have some sort of Thinker power—sorry, that's cape jargon—some sort of ability that's dumping knowledge straight into her mind. That would be why she's currently comatose: her brain is struggling to adapt to the flow of new information. If I'm right, she should wake up within a day or so, maybe a week at the outside."</p><p>"A <em> week</em>?" Danny cradled his head in his hands. "Thinker powers and the PRT… This is too much!"</p><p>Cameron rested her hand on Beatrix's knee, cutting off whatever reply she'd been about to make. "We get it, man. It's a lot to take in. How about we leave you our card and let you process all this, and you can reach out to us in a day or two once you're ready? Yeah?"</p><p>"Yeah," said Danny. "Yeah, I think that would be good."</p><p>Cameron smiled reassuringly. "Just… Try not to do anything rash, okay? Don't contact the PRT, obviously, but don't talk to this Barnes family, either. Not until you've had a chance to consult a good lawyer."</p><p>"I can't afford—"</p><p>"Oh! Right, almost forgot." Cameron dipped into a pocket and whipped out a checkbook. "I'll make this out to Daniel Hebert, yeah? Something to put towards legal fees."</p><p>"What—I can't accept—why? Why are you doing this?"</p><p>"Because it's the right thing to do," said Cameron emphatically as she signed with a flourish. She placed the check face down on the coffee table, along with a business card, and stood, Beatrix following suit a moment later. "See ya next time, Danny. Be safe."</p><p>Beatrix bade him farewell, also, and the two women made their exit. They donned their coats and walked out the door and off into the night, leaving a bewildered Danny Hebert to contemplate this strange new twist of fate.</p><p>"Hon," Beatrix began as they strolled down the street under the moonless sky. "You… That was a blank check."</p><p>"So?" asked Cameron, stuffing her cell phone into one of her many pockets after texting their driver to stop circling the neighborhood and come pick them up.</p><p>"Just saying."</p><p>Cameron shrugged. "He seemed honest. Anyway, it hardly matters."</p><p>"Eh, it's your money, I guess. How much time do we have?"</p><p>Cameron retrieved her datapad from another pocket and checked their schedule. "Meeting's not till eleven. Plenty of time for a lil' somethin' before we get ready… you in the mood?"</p><p>Beatrix oohed gleefully. "I love you," she said, laughing.</p><p>Cameron blushed and bumped her shoulder. "Love you too."</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Chapter 2</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p><em> Palanquin </em> was an island of brighter light on a dimly lit street. It lay a couple blocks from the main drag, Lord Street, and on the north end of Downtown, not that far from the Docks. As Beatrix and Cameron swooped in closer, staying out of sight of the line of people in front of the club, the throbbing pulse of the bassline came into earshot. Setting them down on the opposite side of the building, Beatrix needlessly adjusted her heavy white cape by hand. Untouched by any winds, her curly light brown hair hung loose around her shoulders, in contrast to the bun she tended to keep it in out of costume; the ends partially obscured the top of the stylized rainbow <em> S </em> across her bosom. The wide white lens of her pink visor shimmered in the darkness of the alley as she turned her head to regard her partner.</p><p>"What?" she asked, a soft smile playing at her lips.</p><p>"Nothing," said Cameron, ducking her head a little. "You're beautiful, is all."</p><p>"Aw, thank you!" Beatrix beamed.</p><p>Cameron smiled shyly in return. She raised a black-gloved hand to her head to run it over her buzz cut, only to meet the unfamiliar material of her black-and-gold helmet. Sheepishly, she lowered her arm. <em> Fuck, that's right, I'm Freek now</em>, she scolded herself. <em> Should've remembered, what with the view through my own lenses</em>.</p><p>"Ope, someone's coming already," said Beatrix—no, Sovran—gesturing toward the camera above the metal door set into the side of the building. "That was quick. You ready for this?"</p><p>"Sure," said Freek without much confidence. She'd been to nightclubs plenty of times before, but this meeting was way outside her comfort zone.</p><p>"It'll be fine," Sovran reassured her. "Just remember what we discussed, and if you're feeling lost, follow my lead."</p><p>"Yeah." Freek rolled her shoulders, bouncing on her toes a few times. "I know. Just nerves."</p><p>The door swung inward, revealing the prodigious bulk of an unmistakable Case 53. Standing almost six feet tall and weighing at least five hundred pounds, the guy cut an imposing figure, and the fluorescent light from behind him shone through his translucent head, causing the silhouette of his skull and the shell-like growths on his face to stand out in dark relief.</p><p>"Welcome," he said. "You must be Sovran and… Freek." His speech was faintly accented, the words and sounds very careful, as though he weren't comfortable with English.</p><p>"And no doubt you're Gregor," said Sovran with a friendly grin. "I've been looking forward to meeting you."</p><p>"Oh?" He sounded curious. "I was unaware my reputation among heroes was so positive."</p><p>"We're not exactly normal 'heroes'," said Freek. "Honestly, I prefer the term <em> good guys</em>, and from what I've heard, you and your crewmates aren't exactly <em> bad</em>."</p><p>Gregor gave a noncommittal grunt. He glanced at the Tinker gun slung over Freek's shoulder. "You understand the consequences of breaking neutrality, yes?"</p><p>"We know," said Sovran. "It's just a precaution."</p><p>"In any case, let us go in and speak business. It is not good to linger here where we may be seen."</p><p>"By all means, please, lead the way," said Sovran, nodding and making an <em> after you </em> gesture with her hand.</p><p>"With pleasure," Gregor rumbled, moving back slightly. He politely held the door long enough for them to reach it, before tucking his hands into the front pocket of his baggy black <em> Palanquin</em>-branded sweatshirt as though to hide the ruined brown nails and more of those spiral growths. Then he trundled off down the bare hallway with Freek and Sovran in tow. After ascending a flight of stairs through a side door, they emerged into the middle of a new hall at a right angle to the one downstairs. Gregor turned right and continued a short distance to a windowed door at the end of the hall, the shade of which was down. He knocked twice and opened it without waiting for a response.</p><p>Through the door lay what turned out to be an office, richly appointed with a large oak desk and matching bookshelves loaded with fat books, many of which looked to be college textbooks. The woman seated behind the desk, who had to be Faultline, wore a professional white dress shirt with the sleeves rolled up. Her hands rested on the desk, fingers laced, amid neatly arranged ledgers and notebooks. On her head she wore a sort of modified welding mask that Freek recognized from descriptions online as part of her cape costume. Above the mask could be seen wavy black hair, tied back into a ponytail. She nodded at Gregor, who moved to stand by her side behind the desk.</p><p>"Please, have a seat," said Faultline, indicating with a wave of her hand the two oaken dining chairs that stood before the desk, facing it. Those had probably been brought in specifically for this appointment, Freek supposed, but nevertheless, they matched the other furniture. An obvious but not distasteful display of wealth. Business must be good.</p><p>"Thank you," said Sovran. She sat, arranging her cape carefully. Freek stepped over to the corner and unslung her bulky raygun to lean against the walls before following suit.</p><p>Faultline nodded towards the wide-mouthed rifle. "Quite a gun," she commented.</p><p>"Looks more than it is," said Freek, shaking her head. "Just a bit of temporary confusion, but I'm not really spec'd for combat. That's as small as I could get it."</p><p>"Hm, interesting," said Faultline. "May I inquire as to your specialty?"</p><p>Freek shrugged. "Thinky shit. Memories, dreams, stuff like that."</p><p>Gregor shifted, glancing at his boss, who showed no reaction. Suspiciously so, in Freek's estimation. Something to circle back to, later, perhaps.</p><p>"Anyway," Faultline continued nonchalantly, "what did you want to discuss, exactly? On the phone, you had mentioned a possible job at generous rates."</p><p>"Yes," said Sovran. "We're interested in hiring you in multiple different capacities, depending on how amenable you are to working with us."</p><p>"We're listening."</p><p>"First," said Sovran, "there's a certain cape named Mantellum. He's a Case 53 who looks a bit like a manta ray. We'd like you to locate him, bring him to the Bay, and help us oversee the training of his powers. He's got some kind of perception blocking ability, which I believe might prove very useful if he could learn to use it more effectively."</p><p>"I have heard of this person," acknowledged Gregor. "It is said that his personality, eh, leaves something to be desired. However, even so, I would object to such forced recruitment."</p><p>"Huh?" Freek waved her hands frantically in a gesture of negation. "No, no, man, you've got it all wrong! We want you to get him to come <em> willingly</em>."</p><p>"Unfortunate about the personality," said Sovran, "but we believe his powers may offset such concerns. At any rate, we're interested in trying. If he proves impossible to work with, that's a bridge we'll cross when we come to it."</p><p>"That doesn't sound so bad, then," said Faultline. "You mentioned multiple capacities. What else did you have in mind?"</p><p>"You've had a very successful career considering your power levels," said Sovran. "We figure that means you play things smart. We want you to advise us."</p><p>Faultline sat back, laying her hands flat on the desk and cocking her head in an exaggerated display of surprised curiosity. "You want us to play at being a consulting agency?"</p><p>"Essentially, yes," said Sovran. "You obviously have a good grasp on the cape business. We would like it if you could share that expertise during the planning phase of our activities."</p><p>"And what activities would those be? I had Gregor look you up online—Gregor?"</p><p>"I found nothing," he said ponderously. "You are either new or recently rebranded. Either way, I do not see how, what was your phrase, 'good guys' would benefit from criminal consulting."</p><p>"Oh, we're new," Freek admitted freely. "We've been prepping these past few months, but now we're ready to step up our game."</p><p>Sovran nodded. "Moreover, we're not traditional heroes. We're going to have fingers in a lot of pies, so to speak. We intend to cultivate relationships with heroes, but we're more like… ethical vigilantes. Ultimately, our agenda is political in nature."</p><p>"Politics? I'm not sure that's something we can get involved in," said Faultline, shaking her head.</p><p>"We're not asking you to break your image of neutrality," insisted Sovran. "We just want advice and some discreet help. Surely we can work something out?"</p><p>"Perhaps. Earlier, you made it sound like there were at least three things you wanted from us. Before we make any decisions, what's left?"</p><p>"Well, it's more of a negative requirement. We'd like you not to take contracts from anyone else in Brockton Bay, especially Coil, nor from anyone at all if it's against us."</p><p>"That would require a retainer," said Faultline. "Something substantial."</p><p>"Not a problem," said Freek. "But I also got the idea before that something about my powers interests you more than you meant to let on. Maybe we can work out a little quid pro quo?"</p><p>Faultline sighed, slumping a little. "Maybe," she hedged. "It would depend on the extent of your capabilities."</p><p>"I'm all ears."</p><p>"Our teammate," said Gregor with a hopeful look. "She is suffering."</p><p>Faultline turned her head, presumably shooting him a look, but her mask blocked the effect. "She has difficulty regulating her lucidity," she admitted. "Sometimes she's trapped in a sort of dream world."</p><p>Gregor nodded. "She has good days and bad days."</p><p>"Hmmm, yeah," mused Freek. "That sounds right up my alley. Of course, I'd have to take some scans to be sure…"</p><p>"And there we come to the issue," said Faultline. "I'm well aware that you'd benefit from such scans regardless of whether you ultimately help her or not. What's to stop you from simply claiming futility after 'trying'?"</p><p>"Hey, dude, not cool," said Freek, crossing her arms and frowning. "What kinda person do you take me for?"</p><p>"That's just the problem, we have no idea."</p><p>"Fair," said Sovran. "We haven't given you a lot to go on. What if we negotiate a price without taking into account the possible Tinkering, and work out some kind of refund or credit later?"</p><p>Freek huffed. "It's my money…" she muttered.</p><p>"Sorry," Sovran apologized. "I didn't mean to volunteer your funds. I was just saying, we can figure something out as we go."</p><p>"S'okay," said Freek, turning to face her partner. "I didn't mean to get mad. And you're right, it's a good thought." She turned back to their hosts. "We can even pay you for the right to take the scans up front, and then if it ends up I can use them to help, we do like Sovran said and credit it forwards."</p><p>"You are being very free with offers of money," observed Gregor. "I am thinking perhaps you are wealthy?"</p><p>"Does that affect the price?" asked Sovran sharply.</p><p>"Frankly? Yes," said Faultline.</p><p>"It's okay, Sovran," said Freek. "I got this."</p><p>Sovran looked like she was about to object, then relented, slumping a bit in her chair. "Go for it," she said.</p><p>Freek once more returned her attention to Faultline. "How much?" she asked bluntly.</p><p>"For the Mantellum job, I'm thinking thirty kay up front for bringing him in," said the mercenary leader. "Then three per day of power training 'oversight'."</p><p>Sovran shifted in her seat, but said nothing. <em> She's uncomfortable, but she trusts me</em>, thought Freek proudly. "Done," she said out loud.</p><p>Gregor raised his hairless brows, wrinkling his broad forehead. "You are certain?" he asked incredulously. "No attempt to bargain with us?"</p><p>"Hush, Gregor," said Faultline. "Don't look a gift horse in the mouth."</p><p>Freek blushed. "Honestly, I probably should've, but I just… Ugh. I've never done this before!" she complained.</p><p>"That much is increasingly obvious," said Faultline, her voice tinged with amusement.</p><p>Freek pouted, hunching defensively. "Jeez, you guys! I thought you were supposed to be cool!"</p><p>Faultline cocked her head. "Where did you hear that?"</p><p>Freek carefully didn't glance at Sovran. "Uhhh…"</p><p>However, Sovran volunteered an answer herself. "My sources suggested that your code of ethics was unusually stringent for capes in your line of work."</p><p>Faultline waggled her hand in a <em>so-so</em> gesture. "We don't do wetwork or anything too heinous," she agreed, "but we <em> are </em> mercenaries, after all. We have a business to think of." Gregor nodded emphatically.</p><p>"That makes sense. Still, I would thank you to take it easy on Freek, here. Keep in mind that these negotiations may influence potential future jobs."</p><p>"<em>Anyway</em>," Freek said, "what about the other two things?"</p><p>"Consultation fees will depend on the scope of the plans in question," Faultline stated. "Let's say forty per project plus four thou per day of work involved after the first."</p><p>"Fifteen and two," countered Freek uncertainly.</p><p>"Twenty-five and three, and honestly, I'm being generous," Faultline replied.</p><p>"Split the difference? Twenty and two five?"</p><p>"Fine. Deal."</p><p><em> I hope that was a better showing</em>, thought Freek.</p><p>"Then that leaves the matter of the retainer," said Gregor. "For, ah, partial exclusivity."</p><p>"What's it gonna be?"</p><p>Faultline shrugged. "That depends on timeframe and what offers we're turning down. For the next six months or more? Put a quarter million down, and we'll deduct from that pool."</p><p>"A quarter million?!" cried Sovran incredulously.</p><p>"Swee—Sovran!" whined Freek. "I <em> got </em> this."</p><p>"Sorry, sorry!" Sovran waved her off.</p><p><em> Besides</em>, thought Freek, <em> it could've been way worse</em>. Addressing Faultline, she said, "We'll do it, but you're gonna have to let us know at least vaguely what you're drawing from that and why; if it seems fishy, we're gonna have questions for you. Anyway, that's…" She did some quick mental math. "Three-oh-one down, including the first week for Mantellum. How do you want payment?"</p><p>"I'll give you contact information for a black market banker known as the Number Man," said the mercenary leader. "Set up an account with him, he'll handle the transfers."</p><p>Freek giggled. "The <em> Number Man</em>, really? That was the best name he could come up with? Does he like wear a suit with numerals on it?"</p><p>Sovran sighed. "I've heard of him. He gets away with the name by being the best, right?"</p><p>"That's right," said Faultline approvingly. "One of the most professional and capable capes I've ever had the pleasure of doing business with."</p><p>"Well, alright then, if you say so," Freek relented.</p><p>"If that will be all…"</p><p>Sovran nudged Freek. "The thing, remember? Our next item?"</p><p>"Right!" exclaimed Freek. "Let's make it three twenty-one, actually. We've got a mission we want your input on."</p><p>"Oh?" Gregor looked intrigued. "What is this then?"</p><p>Sovran grinned. "Are you familiar with the Dragonslayers?"</p><p> </p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. Chapter 3</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>"Whew!" Cameron kicked off her heavy combat boots as she unstrapped the gold-and-black breastplate emblazoned with her purple double-F logo, which she tossed onto the floor of the farmhouse atrium in a pile with her helmet and the other panels of light armor she'd already removed. Her overlarge gun stood propped by the door. Stripping down to the steel-gray undersuit that hugged her buff figure, she laughed giddily. "That was one hell of a thing, Trix. I swear, I never woulda thought cape mercs would be like <em>that</em>."</p><p>"Most aren't," said Beatrix neutrally. Her cape levitated off her shoulders and draped itself neatly on the coat rack along with the utility belt from around her waist, while her hair bound itself into a loose ponytail courtesy of a hair clip that floated in from the other room.</p><p>"Damn, aren't you stoked? We did it: day one complete, baby!"</p><p>Beatrix sighed, removing her pink elbow-length gloves and stepping out of her tall matching boots. "It's not that I'm unhappy. I just… Well, how do <em>you</em> think it went?"</p><p>"Uh, awesome?" Cameron undid her zippers and shimmied out of the sweat-damp cloth, stepping out in her black sports bra and undies. "Do you <em>not</em>?"</p><p>"Well, it could've been worse." Beatrix chuckled as her white bodysuit began to peel itself off her pale curves. "And for your first night out as Freek, you did great, really. I'm just a little disappointed we didn't actually get the Dragonslayers consultation tonight, I guess. I understand the payment logistics and everything, but still."</p><p>"Psh, it's fine. We'll get things sorted tomorrow with that Number Guy."</p><p>"Number <em>Man</em>. You be careful not to disrespect him where he can hear. And, well, I'm also not used to seeing people throw around that kind of money… It freaked me out a little, to be honest."</p><p>"Relax, babe. It's a drop in the bucket."</p><p>"That's what worries me…"</p><p>"Ugh, not <em>this </em>again!" Cameron's face twisted in a grimace as she accepted the warm washcloth that had drifted in from the bathroom. "Trix, you <em>know</em> me. I hate my millions more'n you, even. But as long as I've got 'em, might as well use it in the name of a good cause, yeah?" She began to wipe away the makeup on her face.</p><p>"It's not that." Beatrix sighed again, more heavily. "It's the way you throw away amounts that would've <em>changed my life</em> not all that long ago, without even a second thought. Like, for example," she continued, absently nabbing her own washcloth from where it hung in the air. "You could've insisted they take the job costs out of that ridiculous retainer fee. That would've saved over seventy thousand dollars! If you're trying to get rid of your money, you could at least give away some of it to poor people who need it."</p><p>Cameron winced, hunching her shoulders a little, and chucked the washcloth on top of her undersuit. "<em>Fuck</em>, Trixie. I get that, really I do, but… <em>c'mon</em>. Cut me some slack! I was a bundle of nerves; the thought didn't even cross my mind."</p><p>"It crossed mine. If you had let me help with the negotiations…" In the other room, water began to flow. First came a splashing surge, then it evened out into the muted rhythm of a rain of droplets spattering on the shower floor.</p><p>"You know I need the practice more than you do," Cameron shot back. "And it needs to be <em>now</em>, before the ball really gets rolling. We've <em>talked </em>about this. It was your idea for Chrissakes!"</p><p>Beatrix threw up her hands. "You're right. I know you're right. I'm just saying it freaked me out, is all. Can't a girl have her feelings?"</p><p>"'Girl'?" Cameron snorted. "You're half a decade older than <em>me</em>, and <em>I</em> started calling myself a 'woman' half a decade <em>ago</em>, when I could legally drink."</p><p>"Okay, ouch. Thought you were going in a different direction with that objection for a second there."</p><p>Cameron froze, the color draining from her face. "Oh, God, Trix, I didn't mean—I'm sorry—I wasn't thinking. Sorry!"</p><p>"Apology accepted. Although, really, I'm probably just being sensitive."</p><p>"No, no, that was all me," said Cameron. "Foot, meet mouth."</p><p>Beatrix patted her partner's shoulder, smiling gently. "Forget I said anything." She casually rose off the ground and flipped over onto her back at a 45-degree angle, facing Cameron, beckoning her to follow as she began to drift lazily in the direction of the bathroom behind her as if borne by an invisible cushion of clouds. "Come on, let's get cleaned up."</p><p>Cameron hesitated. On the one hand, they hadn't really settled the subject they'd just been discussing. On the other hand, a hot shower sounded incredible right then. The dilemma was decided shortly after she felt herself become weightless and start floating through the air after Beatrix. <em>Maybe this will work itself out if I leave it alone</em><em>…</em> With a last sigh of her own, she allowed herself to relax into it, closing her eyes. She felt herself accelerate towards the bathroom, tilting more towards the horizontal, as Beatrix sensed her acquiescence.</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>~GG~</p><p> </p><p>Thunder rolled in the distance as the first drops of rain began to pelt the windows of Cameron's room on the second floor of her little farmhouse on top of Captain's Hill. She lay in her queen-sized bed beneath a warm down comforter, tossing and turning as she tried to settle in for a good night's sleep. She wished her partner were there beside her, but Beatrix rarely slept—and almost never at the same time as Cameron. She claimed it was for safety reasons, which made sense rationally, but Cameron still found it a bit lonely not to be able to snuggle with her lover at night.</p><p>The rain picked up in strength as the minutes dragged on, drumming hard on the roof as the thunder moved in closer. Cameron idly wondered which anime series Beatrix was binging now down in their secret underground base beneath the farm. In fairness, the woman read way more foreign-language books than she watched raw anime, but Cameron still liked to tease her about it to get a rise out of her.</p><p><em>She's getting way too much of a kick out of her fluency powers.</em> <em>Can't believe how fast she can wrap her head around new languages.</em> Cameron was no slouch when it came to learning new skills, but Beatrix was on a whole other level in that particular area. She'd even casually invented several of her own constructed languages, or 'conlangs', on a whim. Cameron was still struggling to master Obfusco, a pidgin-like hybrid of signs and speech designed for secure communication in the field.</p><p>She sighed and rolled over, trying to push down the buzz of errant thoughts filling her head. The raindrops streaming down the window were too numerous to count, but it sounded better than counting sheep or something, so she started trying to do some estimates. She had just started over for the fifth time, having lost count somewhere around four hundred, when she realized she could feel the impacts of the fat drops on her body through the blanket. <em>No</em>, she realized, <em>not raindrops. Coins.</em> It was raining coins inside her bedroom.</p><p>She struggled to sit up and throw off her heavy blankets, only to notice that what was weighing her down wasn't her comforter but a thick layer of cash. Her stomach dropped out as she began to sink, and she cried out in surprise, getting a mouthful of change for her trouble. Spitting out the coppery metal, she began to make treading-water motions in an effort to stay afloat. She could barely keep her head above the surface. That was when she realized she wasn't in her bedroom anymore, but a swimming pool filled with fat gold coins.</p><p>"She's so rich, but she won't share," came the voice of her sneering sister, Maggie. "What a greedy bitch."</p><p>"Look at her. She's swimming in it, and she won't even let us join her," said her mom. She shook her head in disappointment.</p><p>Cameron spat more coins and managed to cry out again. "Help! Help me!"</p><p>"Stupid lesbo slut," said her dad. "Gimme that." Rough hands shoved her under as he scooped up handfuls of gold doubloons.</p><p>Cameron struggled back to the surface again, gagging on a mouthful of metal. She managed to hook an arm over the side of the pool, but Maggie shoved her back to make room to dip a bucket in. "Out of my way!"</p><p>This time when she went under, she didn't make it back up. She kicked and kicked, but impossibly strong hands clamped onto her ankles and began to drag her down, down, down. Below her, she could see through the haze of gold that a sea of her relatives and former friends were on the bottom, reaching up and grasping for her. Their faces were twisted, almost monstrous, maws agape and leering with avarice. She couldn't breathe. <em>No! Not like this! </em>She desperately began to beat at the hands grasping her legs.</p><p><em>KRAK-A-THOOM!</em> Cameron gasped awake to the deafening crack of nearby thunder, disoriented for a few moments by the strobing flashes illuminating the room with stark white light. She stopped lashing about in her bed and lay there another moment before throwing off her sweaty, twisted covers. Breathing heavily, she sat up and cradled her head in her hands. <em>Fuck, not again! Thought I was done with this nightmare shit! </em>With a deep sigh, she ran a hand over the top of her head, rubbing the soft fuzz of her hair and remembering how she cut it off during her breakdown some months ago. She'd kept it that way ever since then, as a reminder of what she could overcome.</p><p>She blearily stumbled out of bed, grabbing her phone off the nightstand and flipping it open: <em>2:52 AM. </em>Unplugging it, she turned on the built-in flashlight with fumbling fingers and used it to search for a pair of underwear in the hamper of clean-but-not-folded clothes that stood in the corner of her room. As boyshorts were insufficient to ward off the goosebumps she felt forming on her skin, she slipped into her fluffy lavender bathrobe as well. Then she padded barefoot out the door and down the hall to the staircase. She descended the two steep switchback flights of wooden steps carefully, one hand on the railing, still barely awake and not fully trusting her balance.</p><p>On reaching the first floor, she made her way to the kitchen to put some water on. While that came to a boil, she set her phone on the counter light-side-up and prepared the teapot, pouring a measure of loose-leaf chamomile into the wire-mesh infuser. The water wasn't ready by the time she'd gotten out a cup and saucer, so she just sort of stood there, swaying gently in place, waiting to wake up properly. The whistle of the kettle shook her from her reverie. After pouring the hot water over the tea leaves, she gathered her things in both hands and exited the kitchen towards the rear of the house.</p><p>In her personal office, she sat down in her leather swivel chair before the polished maple wood desk. <em>Crap, I left the datapad in the nightstand. Oh, well.</em> Rather than go back and get it, she booted up the bulky desktop tower she'd modified to be able to interface with her Tinkertech. Opening a new file, she began to type:</p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p>
<p></p><blockquote>
  <p>
    <em>I never understood</em>
  </p>
  <p>
    <em>my family</em>
  </p>
  <p>
    <em>at all, but </em>
  </p>
  <p>
    <em>now I can</em>
  </p>
  <p>
    <em>comprehend</em>
  </p>
  <p>
    <em>the inner workings</em>
  </p>
  <p>
    <em>of their brains</em>
  </p>
  <p>
    <em>all too well.</em>
  </p>
  <p>
    
  </p>
  <p>
    <em>A seemingly</em>
  </p>
  <p>
    <em>unified thing</em>
  </p>
  <p>
    <em>in concept,</em>
  </p>
  <p>
    <em>the human mind, </em>
  </p>
  <p>
    <em>yet amazingly</em>
  </p>
  <p>
    <em>multifaceted</em>
  </p>
  <p>
    <em>and cruel</em>
  </p>
  <p>
    <em>in execution.</em>
  </p>
  <p>
    
  </p>
  <p>
    <em>I wonder if</em>
  </p>
  <p>
    <em>anyone else</em>
  </p>
  <p>
    <em>has ever truly</em>
  </p>
  <p>
    <em>beheld</em>
  </p>
  <p>
    <em>its magnificent</em>
  </p>
  <p><em>malevolence</em> <em>…</em></p>
</blockquote><p> </p><p>Cameron continued writing poetry into the wee hours of the morning. Over time and with many cups of tea, she calmed down and even managed to forget the exact details of her most recent nightmare. Then, while she was writing one particular piece, she stumbled upon an idea:</p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p>
<p></p><blockquote>
  <p>
    <em>You are my</em>
  </p>
  <p>
    <em>lodestar,</em>
  </p>
  <p>
    <em>a beacon over</em>
  </p>
  <p>
    <em>the dark sea</em>
  </p>
  <p>
    <em>of my soul.</em>
  </p>
  <p>
    <em>If I could be</em>
  </p>
  <p>
    <em>who you are</em>
  </p>
  <p>
    <em>trying to</em>
  </p>
  <p>
    <em>help me be,</em>
  </p>
  <p>
    <em>I would.</em>
  </p>
  <p>
    <em>I am your—</em>
  </p>
</blockquote><p> </p><p>"Oh," said Cameron, eyes widening. "Oh! Why didn't I think of this sooner?!" She tabbed out of the text editor and, with a few rapid keystrokes, started up the custom software she and Beatrix had written for her Tinkering. While that loaded, she ran upstairs to fetch her datapad after all; some of its features might prove handy, especially in conjunction with the larger computer's raw power. Then she got to work on designing the obvious solution to her problems. <em>I can't wait to see the look on her face when she finds out what I've done!</em> Beatrix was going to be so proud.</p><p> </p><p>~GG~</p><p> </p><p>By the time Cameron was ready to descend to her lab, dawn was just beginning to brighten the sky to a lighter gray. The rain had died sometime during the night, leaving a dreary cloud cover that did nothing to dampen her mood. Making a quick detour to the kitchen, she found a steaming pot of Earl Gray already waiting for her, arranged on a tray with little ceramic containers of milk and sugar, the cup and saucer to one side; a bowl of hot oatmeal was there, as well, with a scoop of brown sugar melting on top. On the floor by the counter was a pair of slippers for her bare feet. She grinned. <em>Aww, how thoughtful! Trix must've checked in on me and found me hard at work up here.</em> Tucking the datapad into one pocket of her robe, she scooped up the breakfast tray, stepped into the slightly oversize slippers, and headed for the secret elevator hidden in the basement. It took some work to balance everything, especially wearing Trix's slippers, but Cameron managed to make it down below without tripping and spilling everything.</p><p>"Hey, honey," called Beatrix's voice as Cameron exited the elevator into the central hub. "Did you end up having more bad dreams?"</p><p>"Yeah, some. Got up to write, got inspired. Thanks for breakfast!"</p><p>"Oh?" A smiling Beatrix, clad in a robe of her own, sauntered into view in the entry to the media room. She crossed her arms casually and leaned her shoulder against the door frame. "What kind of marvelous cognitive contraption did you design this time, then?"</p><p>Cameron grinned at her. "It's gonna be a surprise. Gimme some lab time, 'kay? I'm on a roll here."</p><p>"Okay, sweetie, have fun. I'll probably be reading in here. Let me know if you end up needing any more raw materials or anything."</p><p>"Thanks, babe. Love ya!"</p><p>"Likewise!" Beatrix made a heart sign with her hands.</p><p>Cameron stuck out her tongue playfully, then tried to spin around to make for her lab, but she tripped on the borrowed slippers and nearly fell over. She lost control of the tray to the point she might as well have dropped it, but nothing fell or spilled, instead sticking in place as though magnetized. Even the liquid didn't splash.</p><p>Beatrix laughed. "Careful, there! I almost didn't catch your things."</p><p>Cameron shot a grateful look over her shoulder as she hurried off towards her personal little corner of heaven. A console twice the size of an arcade machine, the Big Fuckin' Computer, stood dark and silent in one corner of the room, and she stomped one of several pedals to wake it up. Setting the tray on the clearest area of the workbench next to the BFC, she pulled up a rolling stool and scarfed down the oatmeal before pouring and mixing a cup of tea. This she brought with her to another workbench, where she swept aside the haphazardly placed tools and components to create a usable surface. She puttered about for a few minutes, gathering what she needed and donning her special Tinkering goggles.</p><p>Then she set to work assembling a new module for the device occupying pride of place in the center of the lab—the Crucible. The Crucible itself was a large glass bowl on an arm above the headrest of a dentist's chair, with wires and antennae sticking up all over the outside of the bowl and a thick power cable running down the arm into the floor. It took a few hours in a fugue state to finish machining, soldering, wiring, and otherwise building the module in question. Cameron only knew this from checking the clock when she zoned back in. Surveying her handiwork, she nodded to herself. <em>Should do the trick.</em> Hooking it up to a free port on the BFC, she entered a few commands to start flashing it with the BIOS she'd programmed earlier. Meanwhile, she stripped off her goggles and fiddled with the settings for the Crucible. Having double-checked the new module had been flashed correctly and run a few simulations, she was finally ready to settle into the Crucible's chair and try it out.</p><p>She tapped a few icons on her datapad to set up the preprogrammed sequence to run. The familiar hum of the bowl started to build, then abruptly died. <em>The hell?</em> She got up to investigate.</p><p>Moments later, Beatrix zipped into the room, robes aflutter. She settled onto the floor, glowering. "What do you think you're doing?" she demanded to know.</p><p>"Was that you with the shutdown? The hell, Trix?"</p><p>"I <em>said</em>, what are you doing in here?" Beatrix folded her arms.</p><p>"What's it look like? I'm self-modifying."</p><p>"I can see that, but how? Why? You're worrying me! You got practically no sleep, and what you did get wasn't exactly restful. You shouldn't be committing to changes in this kind of mental state."</p><p>"I'm just… I was gonna do like you said. Be more aware about money and stuff."</p><p>"Oh, shit." Beatrix's face morphed into a picture of horrified guilt. "Cam… I didn't mean—I never said—<em>no! </em>Absolutely not!"</p><p>Cameron shrank in on herself. "But babe…"</p><p>"No buts! This is seriously self-destructive. Did you even stop to consider the consequences?"</p><p>"I just thought, y'know, you'd be happy," said Cameron meekly. "You wanted me to be more, like, on the ball financially. This will do that!"</p><p>Beatrix shook her head firmly. "I'm putting my foot down here. You need to discuss this kind of thing with me first from now on. Tinkers are famously short-sighted when it comes to unintended side effects of their work, and from what I've seen, you're no exception."</p><p>"I know what I'm doing," Cameron protested weakly.</p><p>"Then why don't you walk me through it."</p><p>So she did. She explained how the compulsions she'd been about to implant were carefully calibrated to help remind her to be more frugal when contemplating spending large amounts of money, but not when freely giving it away. She'd even remembered to account for not having the compulsions activate for smaller sums, which had almost slipped her mind. That would've been annoying.</p><p>Beatrix sighed, dragging her hand down her face. "That doesn't sound like the worst thing, but… for goodness' sake, Cam, <em>replacing your personality </em>like that over a little argument is wildly irresponsible!"</p><p>The phrase 'little argument' hurt, perhaps more than it should have. "It's not replacing; it's <em>modifying</em>," Cameron insisted.</p><p>"I just wish you weren't so eager to be someone else. Especially not for my sake."</p><p><em>I guess she doesn't trust me that much, after all. Fuck, she's probably right</em><em>…</em> Her eyes stung.</p><p>Beatrix's face softened. "Oh, sweetie… Look, maybe I'm overreacting a little, but you worried me."</p><p>"I know, Trix. Sorry. Dunno know what I was thinkin', I feel so stupid." Cameron wiped at her eyes with the back of her wrist, unable to completely hold back the tears that started to carve wet tracks down her cheeks.</p><p>In the blink of an eye, Beatrix was there, sweeping her up in a firm embrace. "No, <em>I'm</em> sorry. I shouldn't have been so hard on you."</p><p>"S'okay," Cameron mumbled into the shoulder of her partner's robe. "I deserved it."</p><p>The hug grew tighter. "Oh, sweetie, what am I going to do with you?"</p><p>Cameron sniffed. "Whatever you think best."</p><p>Beatrix released the embrace and took Cameron by the shoulders, gently pushing her away so she could see her face. She wore a sly grin. "Oh, <em>really?</em> I've got a few ideas," she teased.</p><p>Cameron giggled in surprise, hiccuping slightly. "Trix! <em>Now?</em>"</p><p>"I mean, I get it if you're not in the mood, but I thought the suggestion would at least get your attention." An invisible force brushed at Cameron's cheeks and chin. To her surprise, the tears <em>had</em> stopped flowing.</p><p>"I… not right this sec. Gimme a chance to clean myself up and think about it?"</p><p>"Of course, honey." The other woman leaned in and placed a kiss on her forehead. "Run along, now. I'll check in on you in a bit, see how you're doing. And really, it's fine either way."</p><p>Cameron managed a watery smile. "Love you, too." She kissed her partner on the lips and got up to head back upstairs.</p>
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